


Don't grow cold

by galaxyostars



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Hugs, Ice Cream, Late Night Conversations, Magic cocoons, Moral Dilemmas, Multidimensional fungus parasites aren't the craziest thing you've heard about this week, Swearing in narration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-12-26 12:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18282119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: All the times someone comes to Pike's quarters for a late night conversation after each episode.





	1. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Nhan comes for reassurance.

The door chime went off.

Christopher Pike’s eyes opened to the low illumination of his quarters. He hadn’t been sleeping—their rescue of the Hiawatha was taking up a significant amount of space in his mind. They’d rescued a lot of people (a lot of people in various conditions, sure, but rescued they had been). But they had lost Connolly.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself upright, rubbing at his eyes. “Lights,” He ordered. _Discovery_ was as ever as compliant as the _Enterprise_ —his eyes, not so much, strained by the sudden change. He blindly got out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold surface of the deck plating. If it was an emergency, they’d have commed him, or given it to Saru. House calls by officers were exceedingly rare, especially so on the _Discovery_.

Pike made his way to the doors of the captain’s quarters, manually opening them with a touch of the control panel. Standing there, out of uniform and arms crossed in a pseudo-self-hug, was one of his engineers. Nhan.

He relaxed, shoulders dropping a little as he gave the engineer a weak smile.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said softly. “I just . . .”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He finished. When she gave a light nod, he stepped to the side, gesturing for her to enter the quarters.

Though _Enterprise_ and _Discovery_ were made in the same era, there were vast differences between the two vessels. The first, and perhaps the most shocking, was the colour palette. Grey walls stained a cold ship, remnants of Captain Gabriel Lorca’s command fluttering around, surviving through the suspicious glances of a crew suffering from a paranoid thought that perhaps Captain Pike wasn’t who he made himself out to be. Because if they couldn’t trust their last commanding officer, how were they meant to trust him?

 _Enterprise_ was always warm and welcoming—a far cry from _Discovery—_ for visitors from other worlds and for officers alike. The red bulkheads alone made them all feel safe, important, and respected. The crew relied on letters and screens for communication—holograms in one’s quarters were, in his opinion, a bit abhorrent. It made hearts ache, being able to see loved ones in their full form and yet not able to touch them? They had been hundreds of lightyears away from home already. Why add even more distance?

Nhan took a seat at the couches nearby the window. _Enterprise_ had been towed away hours ago, on it’s way for repairs under his first officer’s watchful eye. He hadn’t been able to complete Connolly’s condolence letter before it’s departure. He promised himself it’d be done by tomorrow morning, and it was, for all intents and purposes, completed. But it lacked . . . a personal touch.

"I keep thinking back to the pods,” Nhan said quietly. “About Connolly’s choice to ignore Burnham.”

“There was nothing any of us could have done,” Pike took a seat, leaning into the couch’s back and rubbing at his eyes again. “He ignored a direct order.”

“I know.” She shook her head at herself. “This crew . . . this ship . . . I don’t understand it.”

“These guys just came out of a war.”

“I understand that. But there’s this . . . _fear_ , going around. About us.”

Pike tilted his head a little. “What makes you say that?”

“Connolly was very pig-headed. Always has been. Ever since Spock kicked his ass that one time at chess, he’s always had a thing about being the best of the best and bringing up his Academy days. And the rest of the crew would play with him, y'know? None of us ever took those comments seriously, always poking fun,” Nhan said, a slight smile forming—even Pike had to give a quiet chuckle. “But here? The second he opened his mouth; the bridge crew became very apprehensive of him. Of all of us, really. Like they thought he was a threat of some kind.”

He recognized the feeling. He’d inadvertently snapped at Burnham in a moment of frustration, upon hearing nothing but contradictions, rather than ideas to assist the Hiawatha, and Burnham went immediately on the defensive. The _Enterprise_ crew was by no means lax when it came to protocol, but they had this . . . dynamic of tight-knit comradery. They played off each other, positive thinking above all else—they’d had to.

But here, the crew had had to build walls around themselves, protect themselves against the threat of betrayal in the same way they’d experienced in Lorca. It was up to him to build their trust.

Pike was briefed about what had happened in the mirror universe. Nhan, however, was not—and it wasn’t his place to explain the disconnect between the two Starfleet vessels. And to be honest, comparing the two was getting a little tiring.

“This crew has had an up close and personal look at the Klingon War,” he said softly. “They were isolated from the rest of Starfleet. It's going to take some time to work through the 'us verses them'.”

“But we were isolated, too,” Nhan pointed out. “The _Enterprise_ crew isn't like this.”

No, because he’d deliberately gone out of his way to make sure all of his officers were all on the same page with each other. He kept no secrets from them, but he respected their privacy—so when Spock approached him to take up his leave, to submit himself for psychiatric treatment, Pike asked him no questions (even though he had _many questions_ ).

People like Burnham and Saru here on _Discovery_ were led astray. Members of the crew had been killed, people turned out not to be who they said they were. Lorca kept secrets—he wasn't even native to this universe, having somehow slipped through the cracks of their security during war time.

“What this ship needs right now is stability,” Pike finally said. “Commander Saru is a fine officer, and the crew trust him implicitly, as do I. For us to have waltzed on-board and commandeer Discovery was shocking, even a bit threatening like you said. It rocked that stability they’d just built for themselves.”

“Are you saying we have to prove ourselves to them?”

“We _are_ them now, Commander,” he pointed out, and gave her a sly smile. “No. I'm not saying that. But we need to give them a sense of security, that we're not here as a hostile takeover, and that this is temporary. Give them some time. They'll warm up to us.”

His eyes glanced back up to the Barzan engineer, taking a deep breath from her rebreather implants, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Speaking of security,” Pike sat up straighter on the couch, clasping his hands together. “ _Discovery_ needs a new head of department.”

Nhan frowned. “You're offering me Chief of Security?”

“I am.”

“What about _Enterprise_?”

“We’re not sure how long repairs are going to take. And with these signals . . . I need someone I can trust to take care of the crew,” he said slowly. “If you want to go back to her after we finish up here, I can arrange for that, too.”

"Won't the crew take issue with this? Assigning a stranger as their Security Chief?” Nhan asked.

Pike returned a frown of his own. “Your experience on Enterprise makes you the perfect candidate. And you're not a stranger to me. It's important _Discovery_ is treated as priority, but we matter as much as the rest of the crew—we deserve that stability, too.”

She looked away, arms unwrapping themselves to rest her hands on her knees. He couldn't blame her for needing time to figure out if it's something she wanted to do—she was an engineer, after all. This would be taking her away from the spiffy innards of _Enterprise_ and _Discovery_ combined.

But she glanced back up at him. “Ask me again tomorrow,” she said firmly.

Pike smiled again. “I will.”

With a nod, they both stood, Pike walking her to the door of his quarters.

She turned to him, just before exiting. “I'm sorry, Captain. About Connolly.”

“Me too, Nhan,” he said, raising a hand to squeeze her shoulder and giving a quiet sigh. “Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Nhan left with a soft, reassured smile, leaving Pike alone in his quarters once more. He would chase her up again tomorrow for an answer about the Chief of Security position.

But for now, he had a letter to complete.


	2. New Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Owo comes with mango and banana sundaes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.geniuskitchen.com/recipe/nigerian-mango-banana-sundae-310190

His doctor had been right—his ribs really _did_ feel like the xylophone in a Klingon marching band.

Pike sunk down onto his bed slowly, nursing his side (which had more or less fully recovered, depending on who looked at it). After some much-needed time spent with a dermal regenerator, the _serious_ damage had healed. Now it was more about the muscles knitting together properly and strengthening. He’d have to hit the gym tomorrow. Boy, won’t that be fun—sarcasm, of course.

Just as he swung his legs up onto the mattress, ready to lay back and give in to sleep after what had quite frankly been one of the longest three days of his career (this was ignoring a smattering of other high-stress incidents experienced aboard the _Enterprise_ ), the chime to his door went off. Someone was outside.

He glanced at the chronometer. It was just about 2100 hours.

Pike resisted a groan as he swung his legs back off his bed and slowly begun the trudge to the door of his quarters. He pressed the door control.

Standing there with what looked like two ice-cream sundaes in her hands was Joann Owosekun. He rose an eyebrow.

“Owo?”

“We’d just celebrated in the mess hall,” she said, raising the two sundaes. “Can I interest you with some mango and banana ice-cream?”

He huffed a light laugh, his side twinging just a little, and moved away from the door, motioning for her to come in. The operations officer had a purposeful stride when she located his table, placing the ice-cream down, and hunted for two spoons.

Pike allowed her to poke through his kitchenette, taking a seat to take a closer look at the sundae. It seemed to be a layered dessert—in the bottom of the small glass dish was a scoop of what might be vanilla ice-cream, followed by a thin layer of finely chopped mango and banana, followed by another (smaller) scoop of ice-cream, and so forth. It looked good.

“Did you make this?” he asked.

“Detmer helped,” Owo said, approaching the table once more, handing him a spoon.

The captain smiled, digging the spoon into the ice-cream and fruit on the top layer. He brought the portion to his mouth—and you know what, this wasn’t bad for a 2100 hours snack. It’d been years since he’d had a proper banana, let alone an _ice-cream sundae_. Such luxuries weren’t really suited to deep space exploration. Yet here he was, in his quarters after a somewhat troublesome mission with a pre-warp civilization, enjoying an ice-cream sundae with his operations officer. Albeit, while nursing a recovering injury.

Details.

“This is really good,” he said, nodding his head and going in for another spoonful.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking another mouthful of her own. When she finished it, she relaxed a little more. “There may be a slight mess in the mess hall . . .”

“Well, it _is_ called a _mess_ hall,” Pike laughed.

“Yeah. Never letting Tilly slice mango ever again.”

“That bad?”

“No offense to her, but I don’t think she’s ever had to slice her own fruit,” Owo pointed out. “Airiam gave her a lesson, though, so no harm done.”

“We all have to learn somehow,” he shrugged, and then did a double-take. “Wait a minute—you had a ‘celebration’ and _didn’t invite me?_ ”

Owo froze, spoon full of another sundae serving only half-way to her open mouth. Her eyes flickered over to Pike. “Uh . . . it’s not that- it’s just- we didn’t think-”

“It’s okay, Owo, I’m teasing,” Pike reassured her with another laugh. “I’m glad you’re all blowing off some steam.”

The tension in her shoulders had already returned, but she’d finished the serve of ice-cream without hesitation after the reassurance. They spoke casually about only vaguely important things—the ops console needing some recalibrations to sensors, Tilly’s little adventure in the cargo bay and the resulting mess after _Discovery_ ’s little ‘donut in space’ (of which neither of them had been present for, but Owo was apparently stuck with organizing some of the remaining clean-up and re-stock of materials that had been inevitably lost following the asteroid being flushed into _Discovery_ ’s tractor beam)—small details, really.

Eventually, he finished his sundae, and a thoroughly satisfied Pike leaned back into his chair.. Owo took the opportunity to speak again.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Captain.”

He glanced back to her, giving her a slight nod of his head. “I am, too. And I’m glad I had you there.”

“Any one of the others would have done the exact same thing,” she said.

“No, Joann, seriously,” he leaned forward a little, his eyes catching hers. “You were invaluable down there.”

There was a moment between them, the sincerity of his praise sinking in—and Pike found himself wondering exactly how Lorca treated the crew under his command. There were no obvious signs of poor management or direct attack upon officers or enlisted crew aboard _Discovery_ , but Pike noticed that there was also no . . . positivity. Praise was seemingly reserved for when people proved themselves directly to the man, but not as officers of Starfleet. This made sense, given Lorca’s affiliation with the mirror universe—a place not where it was pretty much ‘kill or be killed’.

It baffled Pike, seeing Starfleet officers in a position of which they weren’t at all used to the idea of recognition, even for ‘small’ feats. To Pike, every small feat built up to a bigger feat—officers didn’t and shouldn’t have to prove themselves in a dramatic tale of glory. Such things should be left to the Klingons; they had no place on a Federation starship.

And Owo’s performance spoke for itself. Never mind her background, she came up with a magnet to open a slide-bolt on the other side of a grate in ten seconds flat. No one he knew—not Burnham, not Spock, not Louvier—could have done that off the top of their head. And that was just her rushed capabilities; as an officer, she’d been nothing short of spectacular behind the operations console.

“Thank you, sir,” Owo said, voice strong and unwavering.

He was immensely glad for it.

“On that note,” she stood, moving to pick up both the dishes, but he stopped her.

“It’s okay. I’ll wash them tomorrow,” he rubbed his eyes, tiredness starting to get to him. “They belong in the mess hall, right?”

She nodded, leaving them where they are, standing at a more relaxed version of ‘attention’. Pike heaved himself up from his chair and walked her to the door. “I’m glad you came by, Lieutenant. Especially so for mango and banana ice-cream sundaes . . .”

Owo chuckled. “I’m glad you enjoyed, sir,” she said. “I’ll leave you to your rest.”

“Sleep well, Owo.”

“You, too, Captain.”


	3. Point of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Saru tells Pike that Tilly's okay.

Ordinarily, Christopher Pike, a decorated Starfleet captain, would have gotten all of his officers reports read and acknowledged within two and a half hours. He would then follow those two and a half hours with a brief twenty minutes worth of relaxation—a nice snack, some music, and just overall resting his eyes. Finally, he’d start writing up his own reports, be they about missions or the _Discovery_ ’s current status.

He found himself struggling to write a mission report for today, for a multitude of reasons.

For one, he’d openly and willingly ordered his science officer to break into her foster brother’s medical file. On paper, this looked like a blatant disregard for rules and regulation surrounding privacy of officers under Starfleet Command, as well as ignorance of Spock’s supposed murder of three Starfleet officers. If any admiral found out, he’d be kicked out of the command chair, no questions asked. He fully recognized and understood that risk.

Context was key in this situation. He _knew_ Spock, and he knew Spock well. Meeting Amanda today only reaffirmed what he already understood of the _Enterprise_ ’s science officer—that he was incapable of the things Diego had accused him of, that Starfleet had accused him of. It was highly uncharacteristic. But for a (brief) moment, he questioned just how poor Spock’s mental health would have to be for these events to have legitimately occurred—was it a true possibility? Everyone had a breaking point, Vulcan or otherwise.

Pike had stopped himself as quickly as he had begun the train of thought—unless Spock had deteriorated beyond anything anyone could have imagined, and in such a short period of time, his "actions" simply weren't possible. It was a thought concurred with by Michael and Amanda.

So yes, he’d ordered the _Discovery_ science officer (which was a conflict of interest in itself, what with her status as foster-sister) to break into Lieutenant Spock’s medical file. No, he was not going to add it into his weekly report to Starfleet Command this time. And yes, he found it strange when Amanda Greyson left his ship in quite the huff without so much as an explanation as to why or what she’d found—but it seemed like a personal matter to be settled between her and Michael, and not something he should involve himself with.

The second reason behind the struggle with today’s mission report was considerably more perplexing—a surprising statement, given man-hunt for Spock, but here he was. Ever since he boarded the _Enterprise_ and began their mission out into the far reaches of the unknown, he’d been challenged with some interesting phenomena and unnecessarily complicated situations resulting in officers afflicted with various ailments and a ship suffering from the occasional loss of sense. This came with the territory of being a deep-space explorer.

 _Discovery_ was an entirely different ball game in comparison.

Pike had found himself frequently riding by the seat of his pants because he had no context of which to understand certain important topics that impacted on the crew. A combination of the lack of complete information and time constraints resulted in him having to move past the most ridiculous and confusing things with barely a hand-wave.

The crew’s last captain was from an alternate dimension? Okay.

The ship uses magic mushrooms to travel to the farthest reaches of the quadrant? Sure, why not?

The last security officer aboard was actually a Klingon, surgically implanted into the crew members body as a deadly sleeper agent (who had actually been successfully in killing a  _Discovery_ medical officer)? He wasn't sure he understood this correctly, but all's fair in the Klingon War, right?

These were just a couple of things that had blown his mind and couldn’t totally understand without significant study, and he just had to _go with it_ in the moment—and go with it, he did. But when the ship’s newest ensign, who desperately wanted to be part of the command training program, and had been nothing short of capable and considerate of her crewmates, decidedly turns tail and starts shouting about how _he’s untrustworthy_? Then freaking out, quitting the program, and slipping off the Bridge looking absolutely _broken_?

No. Something was definitely wrong. Either it was on his end, Tilly’s end, or hell, _Starfleet’s end_ , it was weighing on him.

So yes—this report was not at all being written in a timely manner, because of the mind-blowing nonsense he’d just had to sit through during that day. Times like these, he’d have gone to his Number One and talked it out with her over a single stiff drink.

Alas, she’s busy with _Enterprise_ ’s recovery.

The door chimed, saving him from the self-inflicted torture of trying to understand what the hell had happened on his Bridge five hours ago. “Enter,” he called.

The _Discovery_ XO strode through the doors. “Captain Pike,” he greeted. “I’m sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour.”

A quick glance over to the chronometer that sat on the desk informed the captain that it was actually 2300 hours. He’d been sat at his desk now for three hours straight, struggling to form words for the captain’s report, because he’d been pre-occupied with Spock’s status and Tilly’s outburst on the Bridge.

“It’s not a disturbance, Commander,” he reassured the Kelpian. “I hadn’t even considered turning in. Is everything alright?”

“I thought I should inform you of Ensign Tilly's status.”

Pike's PADD dropped to the desk. Saru now had his undivided attention. “Go ahead.”

“Commander Burnham theorised that Tilly's . . . _affliction_ was not related to her mental health, but rather a multi-dimensional fungal parasite.”

The captain blinked, processing the words _multi-dimensional fungal parasite_ a couple times. A frown dug deep across his eyebrows, chin tilting downward.

Tilly had . . . contracted a fungus . . . parasite . . . from another dimension . . . ?

This was somehow _not_ the craziest thing he'd heard this week.

“A parasite?” Pike’s eyes narrowed. “How? From where?”

“We suspect that a spore native to the Terran universe may have attached itself to her following a containment breach prior to our arrival back in the prime universe.”

Silence fell between them as Pike again digested the strange words that had just casually passed through Saru’s mouth as if it was just another average day aboard a Starfleet vessel.

A spore . . . native to the Terran universe ( _Captain Lorca’s_ universe) . . . _attached itself to-_

Pike decided that this was just another event _Discovery_ lived through that required him to have actually _been there_ to understand anything that was being said.

With a minor hand-wave, and trusting that his crew were handling whatever anomaly was impacting on Tilly, he shifted the topic just slightly. “So, she’s okay?”

“She is doing fine,” Saru stated. “Commander Stamets extracted the fungus, and Doctor Pollard confirms that all Tilly needs now is rest.”

The frown that crossed Pike’s brow smoothed, and he gave a breath of relief, leaning back in his chair. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders—one of many that had accumulated over the day. The feeling was almost lethargic.

“Those who work with the spore drive are given inoculations to avoid occurrences like this one,” Saru continued. “Though Commander Stamets is adamant it will not happen again, he is looking into ‘booster shots’.”

“That’s smart,” Pike tapped at his desk. “How long until Tilly’s back on her feet?”

“Tomorrow morning at the latest, so I’m informed.”

“Good. Make sure she gets back on the horse as soon as she’s able.”

Wide blue Kelpian eyes dazed in confusion. “Uh- _back on the horse_ , sir?”

Pike cracked a smile. Though Saru was well informed with metaphors from Earth, he’d apparently yet to encounter equestrian phrases. It wasn’t the first time he’d confounded Saru with a figure of speech, and chances were fair that it wouldn’t be the last.

“It’s a turn of phrase. On Earth, if you’re bucked off your horse, worst thing you can do is wait a couple days to get back on it,” Pike explained. “If you get back on straight away, even if you’re injured, you’re less likely to fear getting back into the saddle.”

“Ah. A term for over-coming set-backs,” the Kelpian gave a nod, “I believe I understand. And I will inform Ensign Tilly of your expectation.”

With a small chuckle, Pike stood. His chest and shoulders ached, now free of some tension. “Thank you for informing me, Commander. I appreciate it.”

“Any time, Captain,” Saru nodded again. “I bid you goodnight.”

“You, too.”

With that, the Kelpian strode out of Pike’s quarters, elongated arms flowing at his sides as per usual.

Pike gave another huff. Tilly was fine. Infected with a fungal parasite, but otherwise fine. He could cross having to worry about her condition off his ongoing list of anxieties—and maybe get a good night’s sleep.

 _Infected with a multidimensional fungal parasite,_ Pike mused to himself as he made his way to bed. It amazed him that this was somehow lower on the list of "absolutely insane things" he'd heard about this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma admit that this chapter was a bit delayed thanks to Through the Valley of Shadows (DSC S2ep12). So yeah. 
> 
> Christopher Pike. What a guy.


	4. An Obol for Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Pike tells Stamets he needs sleep.

A twist of events had stunned him for everything he had, but he dared not show it.

Saru was fine. Or, rather, he was . . . whatever word fit the description of the stable condition he was in at that moment. Undergoing an evolutionary change right then and there, with the snap of his fingers, was no small thing. Nothing about it was going to be easy, and Pike braced himself for some serious change of personality from his XO—whatever Saru was going through, he was going to endeavour to be as understanding as he could. The Kelpien had chosen to remain on active duty, and Pike accepted that.

But just as everything started to settle, the ship was turned on it’s head once more.

Sylvia Tilly had a penchant for the whimsical. It was just how she was—she often had what Pike considered to be sudden surges of inspiration and out-of-the-box thinking that came naturally to a wonderkid. He had faith in the fact that, when she harnesses that incredible talent and continues to apply it to the command training program, she would eventually mature into a brilliant Starfleet commander. She had the talent to bring the most unlikely people together, to promote a positive work environment in the strangest of conditions. Hell, she'd been the most welcoming member of the crew when he first stepped aboard _Discovery_.

At the end of the day, though, Tilly was still one of the youngest members of _Discovery_ ’s crew. She was just 24 years old.

Upon learning that she’d been “consumed” by the very parasite that had caused her quite the amount of trouble with the command training program, the trouble Stamets had supposedly handled yesterday, Pike was shocked for words. He’d had to sit down for the moment, think on the fact that _Discovery_ was now hosting a being that have deliberately consumed one of his officers, under his watch.

When Saru had told him about Tilly’s recovery last night, he’d chosen not to worry too much about the specifics and let Saru and Stamets handle it. Let there be no mistake: he trusted his officers. But there was always a rush of guilt during times like these. Questions such as ‘would this have happened had I gotten involved earlier?’ rounded his head and wouldn’t let him rest. He recognized these lines of thoughts to be, to quote Spock, _illogical—_ he couldn't change the past, couldn't change his actions and decisions, and he certainly wouldn't have been able to predict this outcome had he actually chosen to step in on this one. It was circular thinking.

Michael being able to track Spock’s shuttle thanks to the Sphere’s sensor data wasn't as much of a victory now as it had been a couple hours ago.

He found himself staring out the window in his ready room, the glimmer of stars being unnaturally bright after the news about Tilly. A tiredness was beginning to weigh hard on his shoulders—one he was now becoming very familiar with. He’d remained on duty well into the ship’s gamma shift, hearing frequent reports of Stamets re-allocating officers from various departments to assist him with his search for Tilly.

At 0200 hours, Captain Pike had to step in. He recalled the officers Stamets had recruited and ordered them to end their collective shifts. They were no good to Tilly, or the ship, dead on their feet.

He expected this would earn him the ire of their spore drive navigator. Pike didn’t have to wait very long before he was proven correct.

A storm thundered its way into his ready room, in the form of Commander Paul Stamets. His uniform was disheveled, wrinkled from his non-stop work and no longer zipped up correctly—it just hung from his shoulders, the blue undershirt dirtied likely from the man’s consistent examination of the inter-dimensional pod (was that even the right term for Tilly’s cocoon?). The dark shadows under his eyes were far from a good indication of Stamets’ emotional and mental wellbeing.

Nevertheless, his shoulders were hunched—he was ready for a fight with his captain, a fight Pike was determined not to engage in.

“You _re-allocated my teams_?” Stamets screeched. “ _Are you insane_?”

Pike turned, hands clasped together behind his back while his face conveyed nothing. “Those teams were working over-time. Something had to give.”

“And you chose _Tilly_ to ‘give’!?”

“That’s _enough_ , Commander,” Pike said sharply.

Stamets’ open mouth shut, but his heaving chest did nothing to suggest he was at all calming down. Pike stepped to his desk, resting his hands atop of it.

“I value each member of this crew,” he said slowly and surely. “No one left behind.”

“Then _what the hell are you doing!?_ ”

“Paul, stop and look at yourself in a mirror! You are not in a well enough condition to be having this discussion with me.”

It had almost been as if Pike had kicked a puppy. The science officer’s eyebrows creased, eyes wide and tormented. He’d been punishing himself for Tilly’s loss—responsible for having gotten her out of her last predicament, and yet having failed to keep her safe.

Exploring the unknown was dangerous. No doubt when Stamets set out researching techniques for travel via the spore drive, he never imagined what he’d encounter. Not only did the crew get lost in an alternate dimension, where there had been different versions of themselves, but now they were meeting entities of which did not take kindly to their interstellar travel through the mycelial network. There was only one way in which to travel through that network.

Paul Stamets was the key to that travel.

Stamets had indirectly caused Tilly’s abduction.

Pike didn’t blame Stamets for this—not for a second. He was positive guilt weighed particularly heavy on the man’s shoulders, and part of him was downright desperate to provide words of comfort, encouragement, and to allow him to continue working like a steam train in a blizzard. But patience yields focus.

“You, and those teams, need to _sleep_ , Paul,” Pike said softly. “Tilly has a better chance if you’re at your best. I understand the need to work around the clock—believe me, I do. But I also know that we have a gamma shift crew for a _reason_.”

Stamets sucked in a deep breath, chest puffing out as dulled blue eyes flickered away to look at anything other than his captain. “Is that an order?”

“I don’t want to make it one. But I will if I have to.”

Silence.

"You need _sleep_ , Paul. When you wake up, I expect you to get right back on task."

The science officer jerked his chin up and turned on his heel, begrudgingly stalking back towards the ready room door, hopefully to retreat to his quarters for at least a few hours rest.

But there was a moment, a brief moment, where he stopped in his tracks and turned to Pike. “I will find her, Captain.”

Pike only gave him a sharp nod, choosing not to say anything. He had hope. This was a problem Stamets was well within his capabilities of working out. He just needed to give himself time.

With that, Stamets disappeared out the doors, leaving Pike alone in his ready room.

Tomorrow, they'd rendezvous with Spock. At least then, some of the many questions he had might be answered.


	5. Saints of Imperfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Pike needs a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely surprised at how long this one panned out--there was a lot in this episode to unpack.   
> Coarse language warning.

He had a lot of things to unpack tonight, many things to consider. But first, he wanted to get the pure, illogical, unadulterated _anger_ out of his system. And with a stiff drink in hand, he leaned up against the bulkhead behind his bed, and thought about exactly what the _fuck_ had just happened.

He had these things numbered.

One: Captain Philippa Georgiou was exactly _not_ who she said she was.

Chris knew Georgiou a little from his Academy days—she’d drunk him under the table one unforgettable time, but other than that, she was nothing if not a practical Starfleet officer. A shining example for them all, with a knack for the old-fashioned. He chose to believe that she had standards set higher than the questionable morality of Section 31.

Not to mention that the Philippa Georgiou he knew back in the day was not the kind of woman to suddenly show up on duty with two piercings per ear, harsh eyeliner, and a stride set to kill a man if he so much as glanced in her direction. Unless her short-lived retirement had done a _number_ on her, he absolutely did not believe Michael when she’d suggested that the _war had changed her_. He called bullshit. And when he pressed for more information, Michael insisted to give her time before she could launch into that story—he could do that, but he’d remain conflicted about Georgiou in the meantime (and he wasn't sure if that was better or worse).

It didn’t help that she was the one they’d been chasing. Not Spock, _Georgiou_. She’d tried to lead them and lose them in a nebula. Didn’t bother even attempting to flag them and say ‘hey . . . not Spock, sorry, wrong shuttle!’.

Why?

Her “explanation” about how she was actively hunting for Spock was not an explanation at all—she failed to provide any insight into what lead she’d been chasing, if she’d been chasing a lead at all. How leading _Discovery_ in circles was of any benefit to either parties, he had no clue, and yet here they were, having been led in a _god-damn circle_ just to satisfy her need to _play_ , it seems.

 _If Spock’s craft was adrift and he nowhere to be found, on what plain of existence does a hunter decide ‘I’m gonna take that shuttle out for a ride!’?_ Pike asked himself, having refrained from this particular line of questioning in the awkward turbolift ride to the briefing room while Georgiou insisted upon antagonizing Michael. As if pushing her old XO’s buttons about Spock’s criminal case wasn’t enough, she topped it by picking up and chewing into an apple just to look even more like cliched asshole as he caught up with Leland.

It was downright terrifying just how badly he wanted to put an armed guard on Captain Georgiou, to refuse her free reign on _Discovery._

Pike took a deep breath in. Held it. And released it in a long and steady stream of air, trying to let the growing tension in his chest just blow away.

Then he gave up and took a swig from his glass. And refilled it for good measure.

Two: _Leland_.

Jesus Christ, where to begin?

Leland had been a friend. Whether he still is a friend remains to be seen. As soon as Georgiou came aboard _Discovery_ , suddenly Leland reared his head and jumped to her convenient defense, claiming they were “chasing Spock” (but could not explain how exactly they were accomplishing this nor what lead they were chasing)—because for some reason, Spock was considered a deadly criminal that required the full attention of the head of Starfleet’s intelligence gathering agency.

On the surface, it felt to him that this was a waste of Leland’s time. There was no logical explanation Chris could come up with to explain his friend’s involvement.

Leland was many things. “Nefarious” had never really been one of them. Unless you counted that one time he’d taken the sock supplies of their Academy professors while training on Starbase 12 and promptly flushed them out an airlock. _That_ could be considered nefarious.

Regardless of their history, of Chris’s goodwill and trust of him, Leland had gone out of his way to not only _threaten_ him, but he practically demanded the placement of one of his officers aboard _Discovery_ —no ifs or buts from Chris. “A favour”. Captain Pike had no real right to object against the god-like wishes of Section 31.

They were of equal rank. Leland had the _nerve_ to order him around during a crisis? Whatever happened to _trust_? Did he presume Pike’s judgement impaired?

He took another swig of whisky, eyes narrowing as he thought back on Leland’s words.

_“You know me pretty well.”_

Chris was beginning to question if he actually knew Leland at all.

Which lead into number three: The Section 31 liaison.

A murderer. Someone who had killed a member of _Discovery_ ’s crew, and never even saw a god-damn _trial_ for it. He walked around freely, with a sense of shy importance lingering about him. From the second Tyler stepped aboard, there was no doubt that Leland had never intended on Tyler being around _temporarily_. Burnham was vouching for his character, but there was a hidden history there that Pike feared was clouding her judgement. Just in case this was a theory to be proven correct, Pike has quietly asked his new chief of security to watch Tyler closely. Pike had very, very few reasons to believe Tyler’s intentions were at all genuine—he wasn’t going to start believing because Michael, as convincing as she had been, said he was a “good man”.

Or maybe Chris was finally caving into paranoia.

After a pause to consider this, turning the glass in his hand to catch a more interesting flicker of light on its edge, he decided that he had a healthy suspicion of Tyler, and was not suffering from paranoia. Tyler was a complex Rubix cube, with a Klingon side to boot. He'd be an idiot if he _hadn’t_ asked Nhan to keep an eye on him.

Now, looking back on the day, he understood exactly why it took Tyler barely an hour to show up on their doorstep when Leland had said he was to receive a liaison—he hadn’t been that far away to begin with.

Pike had to come to terms with Tyler mid-way through one of the most stressful situations he’d ever experienced. His back, his _crew’s_ backs, were almost literally up against a wall, with three of his crew inside the mycelial network, and suddenly (without even a hint of warning) Tyler pulls a hail-Mary and contacts _Leland_ , who had been _hiding and observing Discovery only clicks away_ , to lend them a hand. Because . . . to hell with the chain of command, right?

Ordinarily, Pike would have been all for his crew pulling out sudden inspiration or instant ship saving techniques, but in this instance, no—he was not okay with Section 31 interfering with their rescue of Tilly. It wasn’t because he thought they shouldn’t be involved, not really, but the way that it all happened . . .

Had Tyler informed him during his briefing that Leland was sitting off their port bow, pretending to be a fucking asteroid, maybe Pike might have been a little more open to his calling Leland in. Had Tyler piped up while they were discussing the plan to rescue Tilly and said that a Section 31 ship was nearby and could render some assistance to _Discovery_ , Pike would have been a little annoyed he wasn’t told earlier, but would have been significantly more open to his calling Leland in.

 _If Tyler had said something earlier_ , Pike would have been more open to trusting him. He’d had multiple opportunities to do so. But of course, the nature of his new position within Starfleet apparently prohibited him being truthful to Starfleet officers.

Because on top of having engaged in combat with the Klingons, these weird signals, alternate dimensions, and fungus spores, they were now fighting _each other._

He took one last swig of his drink and put the glass down onto his bedside table. Chris sighed, closing his eyes.

There were positive things that came out of today.

Tilly was safe and sound. She claims she’s ready for duty again tomorrow morning, but Pike had insisted one more day of rest and recuperation. Tilly deserved that much.

Then there was the matter of Doctor Culber . . . which . . . Pike was probably never going to wrap his head around—another thing he just had to _go with_ when Burnham tried to explain it, but nevertheless, Hugh Culber was living and breathing and was currently in Sickbay undergoing extensive examination. How this would affect Tyler, Pike was privately curious to see.

Stamets was holding up well. Pike had asked Saru to keep a close eye on him—the man had just gone through probably one of the most harrowing experiences of his life, and while it had panned out fine for him, it was still a lot for anyone to process. He wanted to make sure the science officer was handling things well and talking to the relevant people, not just living off the euphoria of getting everyone back.

Casualty count following the rescue attempt was at zero, which (after the clusterfuck of Culber’s ‘resurrection’, Leland being an asteroid, and _Discovery_ almost ending up as fungus food) was incredibly nice to hear.

And at the end of the day, Pike got a legitimate apology from Leland for his being a secretive asshole. Now that they were (kind of) on the same page, Pike considered this a positive.

He had almost coaxed himself into a nap, quietly resting upright against the bulkhead at the head of his bed. He’d successfully taken the time needed to work through his frustrations, had come to the conclusion that he had one task: Find Spock. Preferably, he would be the first to do so, before Leland or Georgiou or Tyler got their hands on him first. If Pike could accomplish this, he would let himself rest properly.

That was a promise he made to himself.

And then the door chimed.

Chris glanced at the chronometer—0300 hours. He should definitely not be up at this time of night, nor should anyone be attempting to disturb him. They weren't at red alert, so that ruled out an emergency.

He was lethargic, ready for sleep. Tired drunk, if you will, with his judgement fully intact. So, Pike hauled himself up off his bed, picking up the glass and bottle as he did so. A handful of seconds had passed as he carefully placed them onto the kitchenette bench, before his bare feet continue to pad over to the door of his quarters. His hand tapped the control.

Pike caught a glimpse of her just as she had begun to walk away from the door. He frowned. “Ensign?”

Sylvia Tilly froze for a split second in her half-hearted stride toward the end of the corridor, curly hair surely would have whipped anyone that might have passed in the face just by the sheer speed of her shock—though luckily, it was so late that no one was wandering around, gamma shift well in swing. “I- uhm . .   I didn't- I mean, I-”

His frown deepened when she hesitantly stepped closer to him. “Is everything alright?”

“I . . . yes. Yeah, everything's- everything’s _fine,_ ” she wrung the bottom of her pajama shirt in her hands. “Everything's fine. I just . . .”

The frown on his eyebrows eased, and he leaned against the doorway. “Can’t sleep?”

Young eyes were impossibly wide, her lips tightening as she swallowed. There was a moment of hesitation again, where Pike considered maybe calling Burnham or Doctor Pollard to come up and help.

But the strangest thing happened.

Tilly rushed forward, slamming a hug into his torso. She’d successfully startled the captain from his lean against the doorway, Chris tensing for a brief moment. But as she sobbed into his shoulder, he relaxed.

Strange, but admittedly not unexpected.

Chris wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin lightly atop her head as she began to babble words into his shoulder. Most of it was near incoherent, about risking _Discovery_ and allowing Michael and Stamets to go after her, for allowing her to remain in the training program after her outburst. Through all of it, he simply held her.

“I’m not willing to give up on anyone,” he finally said after she settled a little more, glancing down to catch her eyes. “You’ll get through this.”

You know what, he needed this hug too. This made him feel warm, more secure aboard his own ship when the likes of Section 31 glared down upon them with dark eyes in shadows.

He was glad Tilly felt comfortable with him as her captain, as a mentor, for this to happen.

Eventually she composed herself, straightening out and apologizing for crying into his bedshirt, which Chris laughed off. She gave an awkward and tight smile, did a weird curtsy, and turned to leave again.

She was okay. It’d take some time before she was back at her peak.

He just had to protect his crew from people like Georgiou, Leland, and Tyler first. And that meant keeping those three close by, even if doing so made him uncomfortable.


	6. The Sound of Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Airiam raises a valid point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Airiam is hard to write for. 
> 
> This entire episode was just . . . hard to write for.

Lieutenant Commander Airiam had been through hell and back, as evidenced by the extensive presence of cybernetic augmentation—not because of the war, but for a significantly more . . . _simple_ danger. A malfunctioning shuttlecraft.

Nevertheless, Airiam performed incredibly well under stress. She was thoughtful, calculating, and a reliable officer. Her reports were well-informed and constructive—if a bit bland to read—but were admittedly more informative about the ship than the other crew. He imagined this was because she had the capability to just . . . relive her memories.

In fact, it was _because_ of her capability to relive her own memories, Pike was prepared for her arrival in the late hours of the night.

“Captain Pike,” she greeted, synthetic voice strong and loud in contrast to the quiet corridor. A PADD was in her hands, likely holding her report.

Her presence caused Pike’s shoulders to drop, giving her half-smile. “Come on in, Commander.”

Airiam followed him into his quarters, placing the PADD firmly onto his table. “I have a concern regarding our encounter with the Ba’ul.”

 _Not unexpected,_ he mused. He took a seat, picking up the PADD and gesturing for her to take the chair opposite him. “What’s on your mind?”

“I believe Commander Saru and Commander Burnham’s logic to be flawed, Captain.”

“How so?”

She considered the question for a moment, perhaps choosing her words carefully. “Commander Saru believed it was necessary for the Ba’ul to witness _all_ Kelpiens go through vahar’ai.”

“He wanted to show the Ba’ul that his people were not the violent race they had been centuries ago,” Pike nodded his head.

“Yes. But when you voiced your concern about the ramifications, concerning the past repeating itself, Saru’s answer—that they would show the Ba’ul that they were not a threat—is not an adequate response.”

Pike frowned a little. He had an inkling of an idea where this was going, but he wasn’t _quite_ at her level of understanding (not at 0100, at least). “In what way?”

“Captain, in our efforts to thwart the Ba’ul’s attempted genocide, we did not allow the Kelpien people personal autonomy,” she stated. “We negated their right to choose for themselves.”

He leaned back in his chair as he considered this. Evidently, he’d opened his door to a moral conundrum.

Airiam was right, in all aspects of what she was saying. It was morally incorrect, not to mention totally and utterly _wrong_ , for him to brush aside her concerns. But there was also the complication that . . . the damage had been done.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Pike said. “I agree.”

He regretted that she was not on the Bridge to have given these concerns a voice at the time—they would have contrasted well to Burnham’s hard insistence that they follow Saru’s plan, though would have likely resulted in friction. How do you give everyone the right to choose when their right to _live_ was also under threat? Which was the lesser evil?

Pike could see exactly where Airiam was coming from: her own bodily autonomy had been tested when she was given the opportunity to replace what she lost with the cybernetic enhancements she now possesses. She would have undergone _extensive_ discussions with doctors and psychologists, would have had to consider the pros and cons—all while fighting for her life post-accident.

That was assuming that she was even given the opportunity to choose most of her cybernetics. He imagined that many of them would had simply been ‘installed’ to keep her alive.

“From what Doctor Pollard has determined about vahar’ai, we understand that it is an evolutionary step of all Kelpiens,” Pike explained, mostly to himself rather than to Airiam. “It’s affected Saru’s fear response, which has undoubtedly resulted in behavioural and psychological changes. But he as a person has not changed.”

“Not _yet_ ,” Airiam pointed out.

His eyes glazed over with a minor disdain for the contradiction, but he said nothing to it. “Mister Saru has indicated that _all_ Kelpiens go through vahar’ai during their lifetimes.”

Shortly put, part of him hoped they really only accelerated that process, rather than having left it to chance if or when it occurs.

“I understand that you are trying to alleviate the problem, Captain,” she said sternly, “but no explanation can justify that stole the _choice_ of vahar’ai from _millions_. How are we any better than the Ba’ul?”

He had to admit, the last sentence was a bit of a gut-punch, but he understood exactly what she was saying. The fact of the matter is, in this situation, there was no right answer. So many things went wrong. For most Kelpiens, living through vahar’ai, learning that the Ba’ul had been lying to them for years, marked the beginning of freedom.

But as Airiam pointed out, there may have been Kelpiens who prove bitter at this revelation. Starfleet meddled in their affairs—the Kelpiens didn’t find this out for themselves, even if it was their right to.

Pike rubbed his hands together, easing a chill that had settled in his fingers. “I have no answers for you, Airiam.”

She seemed shocked by this statement, head doing a harsh and mechanical joint backward, almost as if she were surprised he would not put up a fight against her argument. Part of him wondered if this, too, was left over from Lorca, but it was a thought for another day. He simply continued.

“I expect once all this business with the Red Angel is over, we will be held accountable for our actions here. Starfleet will no doubt have questions about what happened—so will much of the Kelpien population, assuming they’re ready to join the galactic community.”

Airiam remained stock still, eyes locked on the table at which Pike was seated. “You mean . . . we _are_ no better than the Ba’ul.”

Pike sighed. “Think of it this way: the Ba’ul took the Kelpian right to choose their own fates so to shackle them. You found that—the sphere was clear. The Ba’ul were punishing the Kelpiens of today for acts by Kelpiens centuries ago. The buried that history between them, and conditioned the Kelpiens not to ask questions.”

Saru’s record, and many questionnaires of which he’d taken during his time at the Academy, seemed to suggest that Kelpiens weren’t exactly _unaware_ of space flight (which Burnham had confirmed), but at the same time, they weren’t exactly eager to pursue it, what with the Ba’ul lingering.

“What we did won’t ever be forgotten,” he continued, “and I have no intention of hiding anything from the Kelpiens. If I was given another option, maybe I’d have taken it. But in the hand we were dealt, I feel more confident that what we did gives the Kelpiens a chance to live their own lives, maybe rectify the relationship with the Ba’ul.”

“I understand, Captain.”

Airiam had softened in her stance, arms behind her back. An expression of hope had returned to his second officer’s features. He was glad that she chose to bring these concerns to him, even if he had no real solution for her.

“Please be aware that I will be filing a report to Starfleet Command,” she said.

“I’d be disappointed in the senior staff if they all conveniently decided not to,” he smiled. “I’m writing one myself.”

She gave a curt nod. “My report and analysis is on the PADD. Goodnight, Captain.”

Airiam turned on her heel, and was just at the door when he called out to her, “Airiam?”

She stopped, head glancing over to him. He stood, tapping the PADD in his hands.

“What we did broke several regulations. And ethically, it does put us on the same level as the Ba’ul,” he said. “But the fact that we’re questioning whether what we did was right? It means we’re on the right path.”

Airiam gave a weak smile and a slight nod of her head. “Goodnight, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr! [galaxyostars](https://galaxyostars.tumblr.com) for my everything-and-anything blog, and [galaxyistyping](https://galaxyistyping.tumblr.com) for updates to fics (like this one).


End file.
